


After the Match

by darkandstormyslash



Series: Gray and Gold [3]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Hand Job, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Minor Injuries, Semi-Public Sex, blowjob, cute young men having a cuddle (while one of them is all bruised and bloody), light bloodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 22:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13468089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/pseuds/darkandstormyslash
Summary: Set post Season 4, when Michael returns from America. Bonnie throws a match and Michael comes to comfort him while being a bit of a kinky bastard.This is stand-alone, but assumes Bonnie and Michael are in a relationship and follows on from my previous Gray and Gold fics.





	After the Match

The trick, Michael knows by now, is not to feel guilty. Bonnie has to throw matches, that’s the whole point of owning an expert fighter in the same way that the whole point of having a prizewinning horse is to sometimes lose races. If he approaches it feeling guilty it makes him culpable in a system he knows is wrong. Guilt makes Bonnie’s injuries his fault, and Bonnie’s misery his responsibility. It also affects Bonnie; if Michael looks guilty Bonnie has to pretend that he doesn’t hate throwing matches in order to save Michael’s feelings. If Michael isn’t guilty then Bonnie can snap, snivel and complain as much as he likes and both of them will feel better for it.

So when he walks into the backroom, with the sound of the cheers and post-match celebrations echoing behind him, he makes sure he’s smirking like the evil little sod he is. Bonnie’s sitting alone on a bench, arms on his knees, head hanging down, and Michael quietly stands above him and hands him a flask of water.

“He was good.” Bonnie mumbles, taking the water and pouring half of it over his face. It picks up blood as it goes, staining pink by the time it reaches his shorts. “Really good. Should’ve let me do it properly.”

“They say Jack Hood is one of the best.” Michael answers, watching as Bonnie tilts his head back and greedily sucks down the last of the water in the flask, “There’s no shame in losing.”

Bonnie glares at him, one eye swollen shut, the other not looking much better. “There’s always shame in losing. It lets people down, all of them that wanted to watch me win.”

“Well Tommy Shelby wanted to watch you lose.” Michael crouches down to face him, reaching forward and softly pressing at a cut over Bonnie’s eye, watching him flinch slightly at the touch. “I wanted to watch you lose.”

“I prefer when you want to watch me win.” Bonnie mutters, his tongue worrying at a split in the corner of his mouth. Michael leans forward slightly and pokes his own tongue at it, hearing a little groan from Bonnie’s mouth as he does so. Bonnie is always so strong, so tough and indestructible. Part of Michael does rather enjoy these times, the only times where Bonnie is suddenly soft and vulnerable like a crab just after it moults.    

“Bonnie!” Michael’s body jerks back as he hears Aberama fling the door open behind him, watching Bonnie as he turns to look at his father. Aberama pauses when he sees Michael, hesitating in what would clearly otherwise have been a rush to his son’s side. “Are you alright, is – is he alright?”

Bonnie nods and Michael answers for him, “He’ll be fine. I’ll patch him up.”

“Right.” Aberama’s eyes narrow a little as he turns to look at Michael, but Michael holds his gaze and doesn’t let up. It’s Aberama who finally relents, breaking eye contact and backing towards the door. “You fought well Bonnie, there’s nobody out there thinks any the worse of you. I’ll – I’ll see you back at the hotel.”

Bonnie nods again and waits until his father leaves before saying, “He knows. He knows about us.”

“He can’t.” Michael pokes Bonnie’s split lip with his tongue again to shut him up. “He’d have said something, you know he would’ve.”

“He, ah stoppit.” Bonnie’s mouth turns up to a small curve as Michael’s tongue moves up further to kiss over his grazed cheek, “Oww, he hasn’t said anything because he doesn’t know what to say. He’s no idea how to deal with it, so he’s just pretending it’s not happening.”

“If he knew I’m sure I’d have a few more bullet holes in me.” Michael gives a final kiss onto Bonnie’s forehead, then heads over to pull out the medical box. “Polly doesn’t know.”

“Polly doesn’t, he does.” Bonnie sighs, and lifts his hands to unwind the gauze wrapped around his knuckles. Michael crouches back in front of him, taking each hand in turn and pulling away the last of the gauze, kissing at the bruised knuckles and licking where they’re scraped. “If he doesn’t know, why do you think he left us alone together?”

“If he does know, why would he _ever_ leave us alone together?”

Bonnie hisses a little as the wet of Michael’s tongue stings into his grazed knuckles but he doesn’t pull them back. He can take pain; Michael is always fascinated to see just how much. “He knows you make me happy.”

Michael raises an eyebrow, looking up at him in disbelief. “I get you beaten, look at you!”

“That’s Tommy Shelby, not you.”

No guilt, Michael is careful not to feel a shred of guilt as he lifts a hand again and presses a little harder at the cut above Bonnie’s eye, watching as it sluggishly starts to ooze blood. “Sometimes it’s me.”

Bonnie’s smile is mischievous, “No it’s not. You don’t have that kind of power.”

“You keep talking like that and I’ll make you lose the next three.” Michael answers, just because he knows it’ll make a big broad smile open up across Bonnie’s face and he wants to see that smile. Opening the medical box, he takes out a little vial of antiseptic, dabbing it onto a cotton towel. “Alright, hold still.”

Bonnie doesn’t move an inch as Michael carefully pets at his injuries and tapes up the cuts on his face. When he’s finished he stands, and then helps Bonnie to stand, carefully wrapping up the large graze on his left side, and checking the bruises that litter his torso. By now he’s become an expert at assessing semi-broken bodies; the difference between a skin-deep bruise and an internal injury. Bonnie’s eyes follow him as he works, then flutter closed as Michael takes a hold of his boxing shorts and gently tugs them down.

Michael kneels, and grins as he hears Bonnie’s sharp intake of breath. “Don’t get your hopes up.” He’s still not ready to have a cock in his hand or worse, in his mouth, but he’s starting to think maybe one day he will be. If it’s Bonnie’s cock, and Bonnie’s beneath him and not holding onto him. He takes one of the bruised fists and guides it to Bonnie’s cock, while his hands press and knead encouragingly at Bonnie’s arse and his mouth kisses over the curve of Bonnie’s backside.

“Go on…” he murmurs gently, and Bonnie gives a desperate little noise that is almost a sob. The weeks before a match Bonnie won’t have sex, the days before he won’t even let himself cum. He’s convinced that it’ll leave him a wreck, enfeebled and weak for the match ahead. Which means that after the match, in an adrenaline fuelled haze of pain and celebration, it’s easy for Michael to make him eager and desperate.

Bonnie’s arse is currently the only part of him that isn’t covered in bruises and scrapes, so Michael sees nothing wrong in being a little more rough with it. He’s likes Bonnie’s arse; it’s a nice safe part of him that is unconnected with troublesome bits of male anatomy and it’s also firm, muscled and gorgeous. He digs in his nails, and then bites down hard, and Bonnie gives a wail, his hand moving frantically. Michael slides his hand around, pressing into Bonnie’s inner thigh, and murmurs against his skin, “When you’ve finished you’re doing me, even if I have to move your hand myself.”

“A-ahh do that again…” Bonnie whimpers, and so Michael bites the other cheek, marking up the pale expanse of skin as Bonnie’s whole body shudders and his release spills out all over the floor, joining the blood and grime and mess that’s already there. Bonnie keeps shivering, clinging onto Michael’s head as he lowers himself back down onto the bench, gasping for breath.

Michael watches the goosepimples shiver out onto Bonnie’s arms then takes off his jacket, wrapping it across muscled shoulders. Bonnie looks exhausted, and leans his head into Michael’s waist, letting Michael pat at his hair, then lifts up one hand. “There you go, you move it.”

Michael gently pries Bonnie’s head away from his trousers and pokes his taped-up cheek, “Mouth?”

Bonnie gives a groan and while Michael doesn’t want to force him there is some part of him that very much wants this, to take Bonnie while he’s unable to do anything to stop him. He craves the power and the safety that comes with it, to be the one who can control and hurt. He taps the side of Bonnie’s face with his hand, “Open up.”

Bonnie gives a little smirk and then shakes his head, reaching up to put his hand over Michael’s and then gently guiding Michael’s thumb into his mouth, “I’m too tired. You open it.”

Michael fumbles desperately at his trousers with one hand, rather losing the effect of calm control he was hoping for, while his thumb presses inside Bonnie’s mouth smoothly opening it up. There’s a cut on the inside of Bonnie’s cheek, and Michael presses into it until Bonnie whimpers and then the guilt he’s been trying to stave off suddenly descends on him all at once in a large dark lump.

He moves his hand quickly out of Bonnie’s mouth, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yes you do.”

Yes, he does. Michael takes a breath and thinks for a moment, “I don’t want to break you.”

Bonnie’s smile is wide, “You think I can’t tell when a man wants to hurt me? I see them all the time across the ring. They want to hurt me and I want to hurt them, but nobody wants to _break_ anything. It’s a game, Michael, that’s what it is. A game that’s bloody fun to play.”

“Bonnie, I just, I just want – “

“Shh… Bonnie scoots along the bench until he can rest his head against the wall, then grabs Michael’s thumb again and puts it into his mouth, sucking gently. There is something beautiful about it, Michael thinks, Bonnie all bruised and battered, head lolling, jaw pressed open with Michael about to stick his cock in it.

He’s hard. He’s been half-hard for most of the fight, watching fist after fist leave a mark on Bonnie’s body. His hand finds Bonnie’s jaw, holding it in place while his hips thrust forward. Bonnie makes a choked little noise, and then his hand reaches around to grab at Michael’s leg, and his eyes look up at Michael full of brimming excitement.

It takes Michael a little longer to finish than Bonnie, after all he’s not spent the last month in self-imposed chastity. His hand locks tight on Bonnie’s jaw to hold it open, while his other hand strokes Bonnie’s face, presses down on the cuts, and tugs at Bonnie’s hair. Bonnie gasps and huffs and makes beautiful noises around his cock until Michael is biting his lip to stop himself cumming too loudly. He’s well aware they’re in a small room with no sound proofing, and it’s a distinct possibility that Aberama might, for all his words, be hovering behind the door trying to listen.

He collapses down on the bench next to Bonnie, wrapping an arm around the jacket and grinning as Bonnie leans heavily against him. “I pretend it’s you.” Bonnie murmurs gently, sounding slightly dazed. “Sometimes I pretend it’s you that gives the order. Makes it easier to throw a match if it feels like I’m doing it for you.”

“Don’t be daft.” Michael mutters back, but he wraps his other arm around Bonnie as well, pulling him in close and letting the exhausted body rest properly against his. “Let me know when you’re ready to walk again and we’ll get you back to the hotel. I can’t carry you.”

“Jack Hood – can I beat him next time I fight him?” Bonnie asks, closing his eyes. Michael doesn’t know the answer, but he knows what Bonnie needs to hear right now, and so he kisses the top of the dark curls and whispers gently back.

“Yeah, course you can.”

“Good.”

“Fourth round though.” Michael smirks, “You need to take some punishment first or people will get suspicious.”

It’s all a game, he thinks, feeling Bonnie’s laugh against his chest. Even so, he’s not sure it’s a game he’d want to play with anyone other than Bonnie.

**Author's Note:**

> Jack Hood was an actual Boxer, and one of the best Birmingham Boxers in the 1920s. 
> 
> I'm actually rather liking the self-imposed limits I've put on Michael's sex life. So many of my fics go straight to full-on anal so it's nice to explore other ways of having sex.
> 
> I've also now stuck all my Bonnie/Michael stuff into a series so it's easier to find them all :) They are all part of the same 'universe' (as it were) and probably work best when read in order.


End file.
